Birthday Blues
by cactusnell
Summary: Molly is spending her birthday drowning herself in red wine and chocolate, until Sherlock shows up with a proposition she can't believe. Sherlolly


Dr. Molly Hooper was a brilliant pathologist, respected by her colleagues, admired by her peers, and liked by her friends. By any casual estimation, she should have been resoundingly happy, yet she was not. There's always something, it seems. And Molly's something was Sherlock Holmes. Today was her birthday, her thirty-fifth, to be exact, and she found herself sitting on her own couch, in her own sitting room, glass of red wine within easy reach, and container of chocolate ice cream in her hands. Not the best combinations of ingestibles, but she just didn't give a damn.

She was halfway through her bottle of wine and her Doctor Who marathon, when the bane of her existence, who also happened to be the love of her life, let himself into her small flat, without knocking as usual.

"Happy Birthday, Molly!" Sherlock Holmes, world's only consulting detective said loudly, in a not really convincing display of bonhomie.

"I'm not celebrating my birthday this year, Sherlock…"

"Ice cream and wine? All you're missing is the cake! Has Mycroft been here and eaten it all?" Sherlock said, laughing to himself at his perennial joke about his brother's affinity for pastry.

"No cake. No party hats. No birthday."

"Why not, Dr. Hooper? You have always struck me as a rather sentimental person, and birthdays are usually occasions which engender a rather sentimental response."

"I'm entering that awkward period where there is nothing to celebrate, Sherlock…"

"Awkward?"

"Yes. When you're young, you celebrate getting older, coming into your own, one more step into your bright future. And when you get old, you celebrate simply surviving another year. I'm at that awkward stage Not getting any younger, and not old enough to celebrate my continued survival. Did you bring me a gift?"

Sherlock looked around uneasily, thinking to himself that he should have stopped for a bottle of her favorite red wine, given the mood in which he found his pathologist. He cleared his throat, and started to speak. "Molly, given the fact that it is, indeed, your birthday, and, as you just said yourself, you are not getting any younger, I have a proposition to make that…"

"Oh great, a proposition from Sherlock Holmes! Will it require me to provide you with continual body parts in exchange for your skills at deducing my dates? Been there, done that, you git. No thanks. Perhaps you would like permission to experiment on my own body parts.."

"Only certain ones, as the need arises, I can assure you."

"What are we talking about, Sherlock. I'm half a bottle of wine down, and I'm a bit unclear…"

"Molly, I am beginning to feel that my work has suffered due to a lack of personal reference points in particular areas of certain cases…"

"Could you be a bit more specific, Sherlock?"

"John was of immeasurable assistance in this regard, although I will deny it if you were to ever tell him so. He always seemed to understand the intricacies of interpersonal relationships on the sexual level…" Sherlock slowed down, as if a bit embarrassed.

"Please continue. You certainly have my full attention," Molly said as she took a healthy swig of her wine.

"Please do not think that I am as inexperienced in sexual matters as John would have you believe. I had quite a lot of experiences during my uni days, although I must admit that most of that was in a drug induced haze. I believe that I was quite good at the mechanics of the act as I received…"

"Too much information, Sherlock!"

"Just saying, my reviews were excellent!" Sherlock could not close that particular subject without the slightest bit of bragging. "But that is neither here nor there. I find myself wanting in the area of the emotional and psychological elements involved in a long term, committed, sexual relationship. And, given the fact that a large percentage of my cases, both private and Scotland Yard related, involve this type of relationship, I find myself at a disadvantage. So, as I said before, you are not getting any younger, and I know you want children…"

"Children?!" Molly almost did a spit take with her wine.

"Molly, please be more careful. You could have stained the furniture. Perhaps you should rethink your alcohol consumption, and the ice cream, as well. Neither are exactly healthy indulgences." He was sounding quite pedantic now. "Yes, children. They often are the byproduct, wanted or not wanted, of long term sexual relationships. Being a doctor, I'm sure you are familiar with the concept." Then, trying for some humor, added, "Or the conception!"

"Sherlock, are you serious? Children, long term…"

"Yes, Molly, I think we should marry, given the parameters of my request."

The pathologist now drained her glass, and reached for the bottle. "Sherlock Holmes, did you just propose to me because you feel it would be advantageous to your career?"

"Yes. Do you have a problem with that?"

"That depends. What do I get out of it?"

Sherlock looked a bit stunned that she would not consider a marriage to him sufficient reward in and of itself. "What do you mean, Molly?"

"Well, you have said it would be advantageous to your career, but what about mine? I am already treading a thin legal line providing you with enough body parts to satisfy your insatiable needs! So, what other advantages are there?"

"Children, Molly. I know you have always wanted them…"

"There are other ways of having kids, Sherlock. I could adopt. Or go with the time-honored turkey baster method…"

"But children conceived in that manner would not be as genetically gifted as the ones I could provide you with…"

"Careful, you git, you're about to trip over your ego, there!"

"I could guarantee your financial security…"

"I have a well paying, and well respected, job. I support myself quite adequately."

"But Molly, um, there's some things you may not be aware of. My family is quite wealthy, which makes me, by extension, quire wealthy. Our children, and as well as yourself, would be financially secure for their entire lifetime, possibly even longer…"

"I know about the money, Sherlock. You deal with financial matters like a man who never had to concern himself with such things. And Mycroft is a walking advert for the good life! And I certainly never believed you got those tailored suits and expensive coats from the second hand shops. You could have John in on the secret, though. He constantly complains about eating nothing but beans on toast for days on end…"

"I like beans on toast!"

"I know you do, but John doesn't, you git!"

"He doesn't? He should have said something…"

"I'm sure he did. On multiple occasions, in fact!" Molly was beginning to look a bit frustrated with this conversation. "So, tell me, is there anything else I get out of this arrangement?"

"Me?" Sherlock Holmes, arrogant and egotistical though he was, was now beginning to have doubts that this would be enough.

Molly looked down at the glass in her hand, and at the ice cream melting on the table, and said, quietly, "I love you."

"I know."

"I know? That's all you have to say!"

"It worked for that guy in that 'Star-something' film you made me watch a few weeks ago!"

"Yes, well you're not Harrison Ford?"

"Who's Harrison Ford?"

"Han Solo! The actor. About to be frozen. Remember?"

"Yes! My point exactly! And they went on to topple an evil empire, marry, have children, and live happily ever after! We've already toppled an evil empire, if you consider Moriarty…"

"You did that…"

"With your help!" Sherlock was now feeling desperation rising in his chest. "But you just said you love me, Molly!"

"I also love red wine and chocolate ice cream, which you pointed out, mere moments ago, were not good for me, either!" Molly was sticking to her guns. She needed to know that his career was not the only thing about which he cared. She was not about to become involved in a bigamous relationship. He could be married to his work, or her, and now was the time to make his choice.

Sherlock was looking down, both at his feet, and his pathologist, as he muttered, "You know I don't do sentiment, Dr. Hooper."

"Oh, you do it well enough, Mr. Holmes. You just can't bring yourself to talk about it. But you're going to have to, this one time at least."

"At least? You mean I may have to say it again? " Sherlock looked truly desperate, and just as uncomfortable.

"Not often. Only when I really need it. And I need it now!"

Sherlock pulled his shoulders back, as if bracing himself to take a bullet from a firing squad, looked the petite woman in the eye, and said, quite convincingly, and sincerely, "I love you, Molly Hooper."

Looking at him, Molly could tell that it had cost quite a bit for him to make the admission, which made her appreciate it all the more. But she couldn't resist teasing him a bit. "Did that hurt so badly, Sherlock?"

"Yes, actually, but I suppose I can get used to it if I must," he sighed heavily, and sat beside her on the couch, smiling for the first time. "Then, I take it you accept my proposal?"

"How could I refuse such a romantic display of ardor and devotion?", she smiled back at him, and reached once more for her ice cream. "Ugh! You distracted me, and now my dessert is melted!"

"I'm sorry I melted your ice cream, Molly. I'll buy you some more...in the morning." Sherlock moved closer and pulled Molly in for an extended snog. "You taste delicious, by the way. I never thought red wine and ice cream would go together so well."

"It's not ice cream, Sherlock. It's gelato."

"All the better. We shall go to Italy for our sex holiday, and I'll buy you all the gelato you can eat!" He pulled her closer once again, and didn't even notice as the red wine fell to the floor.


End file.
